Best Laid Plans

And so, I am back.
I guess I love words and the freedom to jot them down online too much to stay away for too long.

But there is something that happened to trigger me into resuscitating this blog this morning. What was going to be another regular trip to the farmers market today turned out to be a little more than that.

There I was strolling around, taking in the sights and smells of yet another sunshine-soaked Saturday. Bouquets of sunflowers and lavender, the meaty steam of freshly cooked chorizo, the lovely softness of fresh peaches, and the casual pace of all of us who had gathered at Moscow's Friendship Square to buy from local artists and farmers.

My red backpack was firmly on my shoulders, its weight evenly distributed. I held a cup of hot, bitter coffee in my right hand, a bag of freshly-baked jalapeno focaccia--that wonderfully flavorful Italian bread--in my left hand, when I noticed her, perhaps the youngest craftsman at the market.

Her long brown hair came down almost to her waist and her head bobbed over the many earrings she was selling. Beaded and handmade, they looked pretty and irresistible. She was busy talking to another customer, who glanced over at me and exclaimed,
"Can you believe this? She is nine years old and all this jewelry, she has made herself!"
"Really?" I asked, stepping a little closer.
"Yes," the girl replied.
"And is this a hobby? A class project?" I asked, fishing for the right response.
"No. I just want to earn enough money, save, and go to Paris."
"Wow! That's an incredible plan. I had no idea what I wanted to do with my life when I was nine."
"Neither did I! I still don't and I am fifty-two!" My co-customer laughed.

Ten minutes later, we both left the little girl's shop, having purchased a couple of pairs of bead earrings ourselves. Even if those few dollars go into helping the little traveler buy just one bottle of water in super-expensive Paris, I would think I helped feed her wanderlust.

Good luck to you, dear friend. May Paris come to you soon.